The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile by C. W. Gortner

can be a blessing.”
    “And I notice that you prefer water,” he said, glancing at my goblet, which I’d covered with my hand to stop the page with his ubiquitous decanter. “Do you not drink wine?”
    “Wine often gives me a headache, even when I dilute it.” As I spoke, I saw Fernando lean in, looking past Enrique at me with disquieting intensity.
    “I too dislike wine,” said Enrique. “I’ll only drink it on state occasions. There is much clean water in Segovia; it comes from the sierra, fresh and cold. It used to flow through the aqueduct during Roman times but now the aqueduct is in disrepair. I’ve always meant to have it fixed.” He paused, gnawing his lower lip. Then he said abruptly, “I wish to apologize to you. I did not see to you or your brother’s welfare as I should have. It’s not that I did not care. Being a king … it’s not what you’d think. I understand our father so much better now than I ever did when he was alive.”
    I met his gaze. “What do you mean?” I asked softly.
    “Our father once told me, he wished he’d been born common, so he wouldn’t have to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.” Enrique gave me a sad smile. “I often feel the same these days.”
    It was a very strange thing for a king to say. Monarchs ruled by divine right; they were answerable to God. Being born to such a position was a great privilege, not a curse one should wish away. All of a sudden I thought of the last time I’d seen Enrique, the odd smile on his face as he’d watched me kiss our father, his eager incline over the moribund body. Had I only imagined it was eager? What if he’d been anxious, instead? To a child, one can look much like the other and Enrique did not seem like a man who had ever desired to be the center of attention.
    “That is why I am glad you’re here,” he went on. “Family should be with each other and we’ve had so little time together. You agree, don’t you? You are happy to be here?”
    Without realizing what I was about to do, I set my hand on his. My fingers looked white and delicate against his hirsute, freckled skin. “I am happy to see you. And Segovia is beautiful. I just need time to adjust. As you say, all this is still quite new to me.”
    I saw Fernando nod, his approving smile bolstering my confidence. For some reason I cared about his opinion. I had the feeling he expected nothing but the best from me.
    “What can I do to make you feel more at home?” Enrique sounded troubled. “It’s your mother, isn’t it? You did not want to leave her. You miss her.”
    I hesitated, unsure what to say. I did miss the comfort of my little room in Arévalo; I missed the dogs barking at night, the clatter of servants setting the table in the hall under Doña Clara’s baleful eye. But did I miss my mother? I honestly could not say.
    “I offered to bring her here as well,” Enrique told me, his voice anxious, “but Carrillo advised me against it. He said she’d exert too much influence, as mothers often do, and that Alfonso must learn to stand second in line to the throne now.”
    I did not betray my alarm at his words. Did my mother know she might have been invited to court? Or had Carrillo misled her because he had his own, hidden reasons for separating us from her side?
    I met Enrique’s eyes. There was no guile there, only an earnest desire to please; and all of a sudden I wanted to tell him everything. He was my father’s firstborn; we were brother and sister, family. We should protect one another, not be used against each other like pawns on the archbishop’s chessboard.
    But I didn’t know what to say. Later, I told myself. I would tell him later, should anything happen. No,
before
anything happened. Surely I would hear of any plots; Alfonso would be their centerpiece, and Carrillo would require my brother’s cooperation. Alfonso would tell me; he would not betray Enrique any more than I would.
    The servants removed our soiled knives